Woven in Heritage,
Draped in Grace.

From the lanes
of Pink-City
to your trousseau.

In a quiet haveli off Chandpole, our karigars draw zardozi by lamplight — the same lamps their grandfathers worked beneath. Every poshak begins as a thread on a wooden adda, takes shape across forty hands, and arrives folded in a heritage trousseau box.

We do not produce in seasons. We produce in pieces — each numbered, each signed, each born of patience.